


Making an exit

by OrinocoFlo1223



Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort/Angst, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Pre-Canon, Pre-Season/Series 01, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:33:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27050491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrinocoFlo1223/pseuds/OrinocoFlo1223
Summary: Maggie and Nancy finally escape from Mrs Quigley's house. They must now fend for themselves. Nancy finds herself along the way.
Relationships: Nancy Birch/Margaret Wells
Comments: 18
Kudos: 8





	1. The Morning

**Author's Note:**

> First time I've written a story that I think it good enough enough for posting on here. Hope you enjoy, but I'd be so grateful for your feedback.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nancy wakes up and gets ready for the day. Could this be her last day at Mrs Quigley's house?

_“I need a housekeeper. You shall be clothed and fed well,” said the well-spoken woman in the wig, carefully inspecting the each young girl’s face. “If I tap you on the shoulder, you may go.” She waltzed up and down the line, nonchalantly tapping various girls on the shoulder, not watching them as - dejected - they walked back into the workhouse._

_A small, malnourished girl with mass of dark hair and sharp, striking features was standing with her arms folded at the end of the line. The woman approached her, a smile on her face._

_“Oh I do like the look of you. Such an - unusual - face. What is your name, girl?”_

_“Nancy.” The girl smiled as sweetly as she could. She didn’t particularly want to be a housekeeper, but she was keen to leave the confines of the workhouse, and have a good meal. If she wasn’t any good at it, the woman could always send her back to the workhouse._

_“I am Mrs Quigley, Nancy. Do you have any possessions?” The girl shook her head. Her only possession was a small ring, the token from her mother who had left her at the Foundling Hospital, which she wore around her neck. “Good, then we shall travel in my carriage to my home.”_

Nancy woke with a start that morning, momentarily forgetting where she was. She blinked a few times and looked round the room suspiciously before recognising it. In all her years here, it still never felt like home. It was the room she once shared with Maggie before Charlotte was born. It had been more homely then.

Her morning ritual began as usual:

“Still at Quigley’s. But not for long,” she announced to the empty room. Of course - like every morning since Maggie had been moved to a larger room with a crib - no one replied, and Nancy cringed at the sound of her voice, reverberant in the empty room. She and Maggie had said the phrase to one another every morning when they were in their teens, but now they no longer shared a room they had to make do with a knowing glance each morning over breakfast.

Their fantasies of escape had usually involved Nancy beating Mrs Quigley until her wig fell off, while Maggie wrestled the keys from Quigley’s “darling girl”. As much as Nancy would have liked to knock Mrs Quigley to the ground and watch as her stupid face turn all shades of purple, she knew their escape would have to be far more cunning than that. And so it would be.

The sound of the bedroom door clicking as Mrs Quigley unlocked it startled Nancy, who was now part-way through changing into her dress. Years of being a harlot hadn’t affected her modesty and Nancy shied away from the door, not wanting Quigley to see her in her underthings.

“Not even up yet?” Mrs Quigley tutted. “You’ll never pay off that dress like that.” The older woman approached Nancy and inspected her thin frame. “My gentlemen are complaining that you’re black and blue.” Quigley ran her bony fingers over Nancy’s bruised and cut shoulders and Nancy flinched. She wasn’t sure if it was from the pain of the wounds, inflicted by a particularly difficult cull, or if it was just her instinctual reaction to another person touching her without permission.

“Gentlemen?” scoffed Nancy, immediately regretting her insubordination. Mrs Quigley sighed, the sort of polite sigh that only very well-to-do people seem to do when they’re seething with rage. Mrs Quigley smiled serenely and pressed her fingers hard into the bruises on Nancy’s shoulders, dragging her sharp nails down her back. Tears filled Nancy’s eyes as she shrank away from the bawd.

“Get dressed, you worthless whore! The... _gentlemen_... do not like to be kept waiting.” hissed Quigley as she swept out of the room. Nancy had met plenty of “gentlemen” since her time at Mrs Quigley’s, and she mutinously decided it was classier to be a worthless whore than one of gentlemen who thought it was alright to violently use children and young women for whatever perverted desire was on their minds.

She dressed quickly and marched downstairs to the dining room. Of course everyone else was already there, daintily eating their kippers. Nancy sat heavily down in the chair next to Maggie, who was holding dear little Charlotte in one hand, and a fork in the other. Maggie raised her eyebrows, concern filling her face as Nancy scowled at her kippers.

“You alright Nance?” Maggie whispered. It was almost motherly. Nancy longed to tell Maggie about her encounter with Mrs Quigley that morning, but she couldn’t trust that one of the other harlots wouldn’t tell the bawd what they’d heard.

“Didn’t sleep well.”

“I suppose sleeping with bruises on your tits _and_ back must be difficult, Nancy. Why don’t you stop fighting the culls and let them have what the want?” said Elizabeth, one of Quigley’s favourite girls. The others around the table sniggered, except Maggie. Never Maggie. Nancy glowered at Elizabeth, but said nothing, her shoulders still stinging from Quigley’s most recent assault.

Maggie reached her hand out under the table and gripped Nancy’s, giving it a comforting squeeze. Charlotte copied her mother, reaching towards Nancy while smiling her baby smile and Nancy felt her heart swell. Charlotte was such a beautiful baby, the kind of baby that would turn heads in the street. The kind of child that needed protecting from the world. Maggie willingly passed her to Nancy so she could finally eat her breakfast. Nancy held the child close and kissed the top of her head, wishing she had the words to express her feelings for the child and her mother. Little Charlotte wriggled a little and Nancy bounced her on her lap, finally breaking into a smile as Charlotte giggled happily. For Charlotte’s sake they had to get out of this demon’s lair.


	2. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nancy and Maggie plot to escape Mrs Quigley's house once and for all. Nancy isn't sure Maggie's plan will work.

The plan had been concocted over several nights during the previous month when Maggie had somehow persuaded Mrs Quigley that she needed help with Charlotte at night time. Nancy wasn’t sure how Maggie had convinced Quigley, but she had never quite understood how to get what she wanted from the old hag.

“I’ve got it Nance, I’ve really got it this time. Quigley’s getting a virgin for one of those vestal virgin nights!”

“Vestal virgin nights?” Nancy was never allowed to attend the parties thrown at the Quigley residence. She usually spent them locked in her room or getting tupped by a shady cull who Quigley didn’t want near her most prized assets.

“You know! When she auctions off a virgin.” Sometimes Maggie’s nonchalant attitude towards the most heinous violations Mrs Quigley committed frightened Nancy. She thought back to the evening when her own virginity had - at age twelve - been auctioned to a middle-aged lord with a pot belly and stinking breath. Nancy grimaced and tried to let the thought pass, but it lingered around for longer than Nancy would have liked, much like the smell of that disgusting lord’s breath had in her room.

“Fucking pigs.” Nancy muttered darkly.

“Yes, yes fucking pigs. But I know when it’s going to be Nance! And Lord Fuller has promised his help!” Lord Fuller was one of Maggie’s regular culls, and they clearly had a soft spot for each other. Nevertheless, he was still a man and a rich man who visited bawdy houses and used young harlots at that, so Nancy naturally distrusted him and thought Maggie should too.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Mags.” Nancy’s eyes glazed over as she instead imagined how she’d beat Quigley into a bloody mess.


	3. The Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nancy is locked in her room for the duration of one of Mrs Quigley's vestal virgin parties. Will Maggie's plan work?

After an early supper on her own the the dining room (the other harlots were not permitted to eat anything after breakfast on vestal virgin nights), Nancy was escorted to her room. The familiar feeling of dread filled her stomach, so much so that she curled up on the bed, hugging herself, trying not to be sick. Only one of those violent culls would end up with the virgin, the rest would probably be sent to Nancy’s bed over the course of the evening.

It was down to Maggie and her precious Lord Fuller now. It wouldn’t be long until they’d be tupping and then... Nancy’s thoughts lingered on Maggie and the wealthy lord together in Maggie’s bed, him making promises to her about helping them escape. Maybe he’d even be Maggie’s keeper. They were things Nancy could never offer Maggie, or maybe she could offer her _some_ of those things, but how would she ever find the right words? Not really sure what this emotion was (a mixture of jealousy, shame and anger, perhaps?), she punched the pillow and screwed up her face, wishing for some sleep before the culls arrived. If only she’d been at the party, she could have had gin, or even a glass or two of port to dull her senses.

Hours passed and Nancy knew it wouldn’t be long until Quigley showed a cull or two into her room. She got up, stretched and looked out of the window onto London. If they did succeed in their plan, where would they go? Nancy had only left Quigley’s house on a handful of occasions since she was twelve and before that she’d been in the workhouse. She didn’t really know what was out there. It was summer now and the nights were balmy, but what about in the winter? Would she and Maggie would struggle on the streets and end up tavern whores with the French pox? Or heaven forbid if they had to sell Charlotte to a bawd for a pair of shoes like Maggie’s mother had. Nancy fought back the tears as she thought about Charlotte, sweet little Charlotte, having to earn her keep by whoring for a powder-faced bawd. She wouldn’t let it happen.

Nancy was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she didn’t initially hear the ruckus outside. She was jolted into the present by the sound of her door being kicked open. A man in a wig was silhouetted in the doorframe.

“You’re gonna have to pay for that door, y’know? On top of whatever you’re paying Quigley for me. An’ I’m not gonna take the fall for it.” said Nancy gruffly. She decided on the spot that wasn’t going to let this cull have her without a fight.

“Girl, what is the nature of your employment in this house?” What? Strange thing for a cull to say.

“I’m...I’m...” but before Nancy could answer, or contemplate exactly what her role was in Lydia Quigley’s bizarre hierarchy, a familiar voice echoed down the corridor.

“Nance? Nancy! Oh thank god!” Maggie appeared at the doorway, turned to the man and said “magistrate, this woman was kidnapped and held against her will…sir.”

“Mags!” Maggie had Charlotte at her waist and was beaming with pride.

“Mrs Quigley...arrested by the magistrate! Caught right as she was explaining to that virgin what was going to happen! Lord Fuller…oh Nance, he was _wonderful!_ Persuaded that old bat to let me go home with him… only we din’t - we went straight to the courthouse an’ - an’!” Nancy strode towards Nancy and Charlotte and held them both tightly in her arms.

“Ms Wells that is enough! Calm yourself. If you and your friend wish to leave this house of ill morals, I suggest you do so immediately.”

“Of course, magistrate!” Maggie giggled.

“Nancy, wait. Will you testify to kidnap and rape at a trial?” The magistrate had a stern look on his face.

“Testify…? Speak… in public?” Nancy shot a worried glance at Maggie, who nodded encouragingly.

“Yes, girl, you would have to speak for everyone in the courtroom to hear.” Nancy thought for a second. Speaking in public was not something she had to do very often, in fact Mrs Quigley frowned upon it, particularly from girls like Nancy. Well, if Mrs Quigley didn’t like it then she simply had to do it.

“Oh fuck it! If you promise it will mean ol’ Quigley gets punished then yes.”

“She could be flogged, perhaps even transported.” Flogged? This was probably the best day Nancy had ever had in her whole wretched life. She took Maggie by the hand and the two walked through the corridor, down the stairs and straight out of the front door, heads high, as they ventured into the night as free women for the first time in their lives.


	4. The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maggie and Nancy must find somewhere to stay now they are free from Quigley's clutches.

Nancy and Maggie walked into Soho, taking it in turns to carry Charlotte, who soon fell asleep. Maggie knew these streets far better than Nancy did - she’d been allowed out with Mrs Quigley from time to time, and had spent her first ten years living in rented rooms in some of the worst slums and bawdy houses in the area with her mother. Nancy, on the other hand, had spent most of her childhood locked in the workhouse before being locked in Mrs Quigley’s hell-house. Nancy kept looking back, convinced that Lydia Quigley would have sent one of her men after them. The night was balmy but Nancy felt a chill and drew her tattered cloak around her tightly.

Around them were the sights and sounds of London’s sleaziest district. Street harlots seemed to be everywhere, tupping customers in the open in dark alleys, touting for their next cull, passed out drunk after one too many gins, men of all classes were meandering around, selecting their next conquest. Maggie strode confidently through the streets but Nancy decided to skulk in the shadows, feeling sick whenever she caught a glimpse of some clandestine union between harlot and customer. She followed behind her friend at a slight distance, wary of her surroundings. After what felt like miles, Maggie slowed down and turned to Nancy.

“I think we would do well to find somewhere to rest tonight, and in the morning we should find a bawdy house that’ll take us in.” Nancy tensed. Another bawdy house? More culls. Nancy had supposed this would be an escape from

“What about Charlotte? Maggie… I’m just not sure we should be whores no more.”

“Nancy, what else is there to do? Anyway, I don’t hate it like you do.” Nancy thought for a moment.

“Housekeeping? Quigley made me clean the house anyway, I could…”

“Housekeeping? Nance, you know how half the girls at Quigley’s ended up as harlots? They kept house for a rich man and then the next thing is he’s tupping them… for free I might add! Give it a year and you’ll be with child and thrown out on your arse into the cold. You’d be begging old Quigley to take you back in.”

Nancy felt a hot surge of rage flushing her cheeks, making her thoughts turn to sludge. She would never, ever go to Quigley for help, even if she was in dire need of it! How dare Maggie even suggest that? She grabbed her friend tightly by the arm and raised her other hand, curling it tightly into a fist. Maggie flinched, a look on her face like a terrified animal. Nancy instantly recognised it as same look little Maggie Mudpie had on her face after Maggie had her first visit with a cull at Mrs Quigley’s house. Guilt and shame came fast and Nancy lowered her hand, letting Maggie go. Her anger wasn’t subsiding but she was able to convince herself that taking it out on her only friend wasn’t where it should be directed tonight.

“Oh curse this life! Mags, I’m sorry. I should never’ve raised my hand to ya. Will you forgive this fool?” Nancy wasn’t accustomed to apologising and the words felt stunted and strange in her mouth. She seldom apologised to anyone, favouring her fists when a rich cull demanded it from her for her behaviour, even if it meant she looked like she’d gone ten rounds with a bull the next morning. But Maggie was different. Maggie was trying to look after them; make sure they didn’t starve to death on the streets and here was Nancy behaving like a teenage boy, unable to keep her anger to herself.

Maggie remained silent for several moments. She could see the anguish written all over her friend’s face. Nancy had endured so much worse than Maggie had, and Maggie silently berated herself for forgetting. All those years she’d been treated like the golden goose, Nancy had been locked upstairs with only the worst culls for company. What was it Quigley had said to Maggie when she enquired why it had to be like that? _Only fit for rough usage, Maggie. You should keep out of her way, my dear_.

“Nancy Birch, you ain’t never apologised to anyone in your life! Don’t you be starting now!” Maggie paused and Nancy, who had spent a good minute pretending to look at all the flecks of dust on her worn old boots raised her eyes slightly, shame still burning on her cheeks. “But if you ever do that again, I’ll kick seven shades of shit out of ya!” Maggie smiled warmly and Nancy felt herself calming. Maggie’s jokes and smiles always had this effect on Nancy. She couldn’t put it into words, but Maggie was the only person on the planet - except little Charlotte - who ever made her feel wanted. Safe, even.

“Hah, I’d pay a pretty penny to see you try!” Nancy quipped, with a wry smile. “‘Talking of money… 'ave you got any coin? Quigley never let me see so much as a penny. We need some if we want a room for the night.”

“I took Quigley’s purse from the mantle before we ran for the magistrate! We’ve got enough here for our own rooms, just need to find an inn.” Nancy wasn’t sure whether to tell Maggie that she didn’t want her own room. She wanted to curl up in Maggie’s arms and feel safe and warm tonight.

The women walked slowly on, Nancy still trying to rearrange her misplaced anger and the crushing shame that accompanied it. Maggie had passed Charlotte to her, and just like she had done earlier that morning, she held the child tightly to her chest and wished she would never have to let her go. Maggie spotted a tavern which had rooms, and the two women enquired at the bar about rooms. Nancy muttered a silent prayer of thanks to the god she had never really believed in when they were informed that there was only one room left.

When they entered their little room, Nancy laid little sleeping Charlotte down gentle on the bed and kissed her cheek softly. Maggie locked the door and left the key in the lock and for the first time in her life, Nancy was in a locked room with full access to the key.

She sat on one edge of the bed and gingerly unlaced her dress, peeling it from her skin - her cuts had began to bleed again during the day and the fabric was now stuck to the wounds. She stripped down to her underclothes as quickly as the pain would allow, trying to arrange her frame so that Maggie, who was undressing on the other side of the bed wouldn’t see the injuries and fret, but before Nancy could slide into the bed, Maggie looked across at her.

“What beast did that to you? Nancy, come here, has anyone even washed these wounds?” Maggie’s voice cracked as she choked back tears. No one would ever hurt her friend like that again.

“No” she muttered “you was busy with that party.” Maggie was the only person Nancy would occasionally allow to clean her wounds. Sometimes not even Maggie would be permitted if the experience leading to them had been particularly traumatic. Maggie sometimes wanted a full account of what had happened, and Nancy couldn’t always bring herself to tell.

Maggie picked up a bowl of water and rag from a little table in the room, probably meant for cleaning their faces in the morning, and gently drew it over Nancy’s bruised shoulders.

“Cor, this bloke had some nails on him Nancy.” Maggie had spotted the scrapes where Quigley had assaulted her earlier that morning.

“It weren’t a bloke. It were Quigley,” Nancy said darkly. “Hurry up, won’tcha? I’m dying for a kip!” As usual Nancy changed the subject before Maggie could question her further. For once, perhaps sensing Nancy’s fragile mindset, Maggie gave up and swiftly set down the bowl and bloodied rag back on the little table. She turned to the bed and found Nancy already curled up on her side under the blanket. Maggie climbed in on the other side and moved Charlotte between them, her hand resting gently on her daughter’s stomach.

“Maggie… we got to thank Lord Fuller tomorrow.” Nancy reached out and held Maggie’s hand, already feeling sleep coming to take her. _Tonight_ , she thought sleepily, _it could be the first time I don’t have a nightmare_.


	5. Finding Lord Fuller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nancy and Margaret find their helper to thank him.

_Soon after they had arrived, one of the older women who worked for Mrs Quigley had explained what would happen to her in the coming weeks. She figured she'd try her chances on the street instead of_ that _. When the child bolted straight out the front door, strong arms had wrapped round her slight body and carried her into the parlour, throwing her roughly down onto the floor at Mrs Quigley's feet._

 _"Ah, Nancy. I didn't have you down as a runner."_ _Quigley smiled pleasantly and took the girl's hand, helping her gently to her feet. She said nothing more as she grabbed the child's ear, pinching it painfully and marched her up the stairs. Mrs Quigley opened a door and pushed her firmly into a dark room._ _The door locked behind her and Nancy turned and towards it quickly, trying the handle. It was already too late._

_“Mrs Quigley! Please let me out! I won’t try nothing again, promise!” But the bawd had already descended the stairs. The room was quite bare, with just a fireplace and a large bed in it. The fire had not been lit and the floorboards were cold under the child’s bare feet. She approached the bed and took her itchy workhouse dress off and changed into the nightdress that had been laid out on the bed._

_Nancy clambered into the bed and huddled under the blanket, trying to warm herself up. It was so quiet and nothing like the workhouse, where she had shared a single dormitory bed with three other girls, a hundred or so similar beds all around. She wasn't afraid of the dark - growing up poor meant she didn't have the luxury of candles or oil lamps at night time. However, she was frightened by the quiet of this unfamiliar room, and she certainly didn’t like having this much space in a cold bed, wishing desperately for another warm body to curl up next to._

Nancy awoke from her nightmare cursing herself for thinking she might have a peaceful night's sleep. She found Charlotte sitting up, gurgling and babbling happily to herself. Maggie was still sleeping and Nancy gazed at her face for a few moments, deciding Maggie was the most beautiful person she’d ever laid eyes on. Charlotte giggled, the most adorable little giggle that made Nancy want to scoop her up and hug her until she exploded. She settled for stroking the infant’s soft hair instead.

“Hope you’re not laughing at me, little’un. I can’t help loving your ma.” Nancy knew she would never confess such love to Margaret Wells’ face when she was awake, but the child, who had not yet learned to talk, would keep her secrets.

Nancy stepped out of her clothes and used the bloodied rag from last night to attempt to wash herself, dressing quickly before Margaret had even stirred from her slumber. When Margaret finally rose, it was only because poor Charlotte was screaming blue murder. She took the baby to her breast and Nancy, after a fashion, averted her eyes.

They left the inn, Maggie even tipped the bartender well for their comfortable night’s sleep and walked towards Kensington, where Lord Fuller’s town residence was. It was a modest-sized property, no larger than Mrs Quigley’s house, but it had a certain splendour that Nancy had never seen before.

“Nance, you’ll be nice to him, won’t ya? He’s done us such a service.”

“'Course I will,” Nancy replied shortly. She begrudgingly admitted to herself that this man _had_ helped them out of Quigley's and without him she’s probably still be locked in that barren room, fighting and servicing culls from dawn to dusk.

Lord Fuller was unequivocally handsome, dirty blond hair and pronounced cheekbones, with watery blue eyes. Even Nancy thought he was a looker, and she didn’t often get hot under the collar in the presence of a man. When they arrived in his parlour, he stood and took Maggie’s hands in his. His kissed her cheek tenderly. He approached Nancy, apparently intending to do the same, but she backed away, holding Charlotte tightly, her face reddening. Fuller didn’t seem to mind though, and Nancy briefly wondered how much Maggie had told him about her and her aversion to any kind of intimacy with almost everyone.

"Both of you are brave young things! Maggie, Nancy, it is very important that you show at the courthouse tomorrow morn to tell the magistrate what you know.” Nancy felt her stomach tighten. She had forgotten she had promised to point her fingers at Mrs Quigley in public.

“We’ll be there, Fuller. Don’t fret.” Maggie spoke for both of them. “We need to find ourselves permanent lodgings, sir. Might you know of anywhere we can stay?”

“I used to visit a bawdy house in Covent Garden. Very friendly madam; older lady - we’ve stayed in touch - Mrs Cooper. Unfortunately some of her girls were struck down by that dreadful wasting disease - that’s when I started visiting Mrs Quigley’s, you see. I’d imagine most of those ailed girls have passed now - she may have space for two har-… women like you. Can you both read? I may just jot down the address for you.”

 _Of course I can read!_ Nancy thought indignantly. These rich men think they’re the only ones with books and knowledge. Nancy had done lessons in the workhouse until the age of twelve, and Mrs Quigley had insisted she be well-versed in poetry, French and numeracy; god knows why because none of the culls she ever spent time with were interested in hearing her recite Shakespeare sonnets, or sing in French. Charlotte reached up and tugged on the little ring around Nancy’s neck, and Nancy batted her hand gently away, not wanting the infant to accidentally lose the charm.

“Yessir we can read very well,” said Maggie, taking a slip of paper from the lord’s hand. “Oh Fuller, I must say thank you so very much for all you’ve done for us. Is there _anything_ I can do to repay that kindness?” Maggie had started running her fingers down Lord Fuller’s chest, getting dangerously close to his knob and Nancy feigned interest in a gold encrusted ornament on Lord Fuller’s table so she didn’t have to watch. Her stomach knotted again and she had a momentary urge to push the handsome fop out of the way and let Maggie draw her light fingers over her chest instead.

“I do have a small something…” came Lord Fuller’s reply.

“Small?” said Maggie, outrageously, and they both fall about laughing. Little Charlotte innocently mimicked the adults and giggled too. Nancy cocked her head and raised her eyebrows at Maggie, rolling her eyes. Remembering Maggie’s plea to be nice to Lord Fuller, Nancy heard her own hollow laugh filling the air for just a moment. _Don’t want to do anything that might upset the lord, I suppose._ Lord Fuller, still chortling to himself, took Maggie by the hand and led her towards the door. He paused at the door, remembering that Nancy and little Charlotte were still there..

“Nancy, you and the little’un may sit down over there,” said Lord Fuller, motioning to a nearby chaise. “I shall have the maid come in and bring you tea.”

“We shan’t be long Nance!”

“Oh shan’t we? Nancy, did you know Margaret does _wonderful_ things with her mouth?” joked Fuller, tapping Maggie playfully on the arse as they hurried upstairs.

Nancy sighed, wondering exactly what sort of wonders Maggie was able to do with that mouth of hers, and sank down into the chaise. She sat Charlotte up next to her and trying not to think about the handsome Lord Fuller having his go inside her Maggie’s cunny. She pulled a face at Charlotte, who tried to copy her, making Nancy laugh a little. In the back of her mind she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be in Lord Fuller’s place.

“Sometimes wish I was a bloke, y’know Charlotte?” Of course, the child didn’t answer.

The maid never came but it sounded like Lord Fuller had.


	6. Mrs Cooper's Bawdy House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maggie and Nancy arrive at their new lodgings.

Following the instructions Lord Fuller had scribbled on a piece of paper for Maggie, the three of them headed back into Soho. Maggie knew full well that most direct route was straight past Mrs Quigley’s house and she deliberately looped them round several other streets to avoid it, not wishing to see the property so soon after escaping it.

Maggie, seemingly on a high from her latest tryst with Lord Fuller was singing his praises for most of the journey. Nancy agreed that the man was charming, and most definitely handsome, but she saw little other reason for Maggie to be so enamoured with a cull. In fact, she thought it slightly out of character.

“Oh Nancy, he’s so wonderful! Lord Fuller has even mentioned drawing up contracts to be my keeper!” Nancy balked at the idea of Maggie moving in with Lord Fuller. What would happen to dear Charlotte? Nancy didn’t mind the idea of being left on her own - she could fend for herself; she’d been left on her own as a baby, and deep down she suspected that she’d probably die alone too - but her need to keep Charlotte and Maggie safe was great. 

“Imagine you, a kept whore! I think half the culls in London would top themselves in protest if you remove yourself from the market.” 

“Don’t say that Nance! It’s a good opportunity for me. I could be one of London’s finest.”

“I know, I know.” Nancy didn’t want to ruin Maggie’s high spirits with practical questions.

“What do you think you’d do if I became Lord Fuller’s mistress? Stay at Mrs Cooper’s?” Nancy wasn’t sure. If she didn’t care for Maggie and Charlotte so much, would she even be considering finding another bawdy house? The thought of working as a harlot without Maggie’s solidarity was not something Nancy wanted to consider right at this moment.

“Mags… we haven’t even met Mrs Cooper yet. She might not ‘ave us. She might ‘ave you but not me… I’m not exactly…” Nancy trailed off, suddenly remembering the cruel name Mrs Quigley had always called her: Face-Ache. For every cull who had beaten Nancy into some semblance of submission, there were three who had left the premises frightened of the violent young woman. “I’m gonna ask if I can do her housework.”

“For fuck’s sake Nancy, you’ll earn less than half of what you can on your back! I’ve never understood why you can’t just get on with it like the rest of us.” Because every time I’m with one of them all I can think about is the first time it happened and it’s fucking terrifying. Nancy had never voiced this to anyone; it was far too uncomfortable, far too upsetting for her to admit, even to Maggie. 

They turned the corner in silence, finally reaching the street Lord Fuller had mentioned. A deep, genial voice was booming through the neighbourhood.

“Welcome to Mrs Cooper’s house of pleasure! Leave your worries and your clothes at the door!” Even Nancy laughed despite her growing apprehension. A tall, well-built young man with dark skin was standing at the door. 

“We’re here to see Mrs Cooper. Lord Fuller sent us,” said Maggie, smiling at the man on the door. “I’m Margaret Wells, and this is my esteemed friend, Nancy Birch.”

“William North, at your service. Lord Fuller, you say? I haven’t heard that name in some time. He was a nice man and paid us well for our services. Go ahead, Mrs Cooper is in the kitchen.”

Mrs Cooper was an older bawd, and although rough around the edges, Nancy decided that she had a kind face. She didn’t often trust people, but Mrs Cooper had a way of putting women at their ease around her. Her eyes lit up when she saw Charlotte, and before the women had been able to introduce themselves, Mrs Cooper was cooing and chatting to Charlotte, bewitched by the child.

“Mrs Cooper? We was wondering if you had space for us here? We have recently escaped from Mrs Quigley’s bawdy house - where we was locked in - and we’re looking for a new residence. I am Margaret Wells, and this is Nancy Birch.” Mrs Cooper’s eyes narrowed upon mention of Mrs Quigley. 

“Margaret Wells? The harlot who bested Quigley?”

“The very same,” replied Maggie.

“Well, I am impressed. I do not have two rooms, ladies. So one of you may stay - I think it should be mother and child, if I may suggest it.” She was clearly looking at Nancy’s demeanour, trying to figure out exactly how she might fit in to the bawdy house.

“Mrs Cooper,” Nancy interjected “I am not looking for work as a harlot. I notice you do not currently have a housekeeper. Mrs Quigley taught me how to keep house and I would be very happy to serve you in this way… in return for room, board and a little coin. I shall also look after little Charlotte here, while Mags is working,” Maggie elbowed Nancy in the ribs, vexed that her friend was not prepared to try work as a harlot again. 

“Very well, you may both take the small room upstairs. Nancy, if you do not wish to sell yourself, then you must vacate the room while Maggie is entertaining culls. I have no crib for the little babe, but my man on the door William North is very handy with wood and a hammer, I’m sure he could put something together for you if you ask him nicely.” Mrs Cooper left the room.

“Yeah, I’ll ask him nicely, eh Nance,” said Maggie, with a dirty laugh. “Did you see him Nance?”

“Built like a brick shit-house! Whatever you do, don’t you go letting him have it for free, Mags!”

Maggie and Nancy took Charlotte upstairs to the smallest room Mrs Cooper had. Maggie already had designs on becoming her best girl and told Nancy that in no time they’d be in a much bigger room, perhaps even two. Nancy didn’t doubt it was true, but inwardly wondered where Maggie got all her confidence from.


	7. The Courtroom

_A chubby toddler was playing outside in the garden, running back and forth to his mother. Each time he ran towards her she scooped him up in her arms, kissing his cheeks and holding him tightly. The boy’s face lit up as the doting mother called him back over to her, producing a little bag she had been holding behind her back and shaking it at him. The child returned to his mother once again and stretched out his pudgy hands, taking the bag from her. He clumsily poked his fingers inside it and pulled out a sugar pig, smiling as he placed it whole into his mouth._

_A little girl in the library scowled jealously at him as she watched them from the window, knowing they couldn’t see her from this vantage point. She had never had such confectionary before, or the love with which it was passed to the child, but she found she had the urge to run out into the garden and take the confectionary for her own._

_“Charles, follow me,” came the mother’s sing-song voice, as he toddled behind her, returning to the house. The little girl, seeing them heading towards her hiding place, jumped off the chair she had been standing on and walked over to the bookcase, pretending to inspect the books. She ran her fingers over a volume of poetry and plucked it from the shelf, sounding out the letters of the book’s title slowly (her reading skills, she was told, left much to be desired). After a short while, a young woman arrived at the library door, carrying the toddler._

_“Ah, Nancy. Mind him won’t you? I’ve got some work to do.” An older man was standing behind her, and Nancy could see he was holding his hands in front of his breeches, looking quite uncomfortable. She didn’t yet understand why the man was behaving like this and Nancy put the strange man to the back of her mind and just looked at the toddler in disbelief, shaking her head._

_“I’m trying to learn reading, Juliet,” she said indignantly. The man standing behind Juliet was adjusting his breeches and tapping his foot impatiently. Nancy looked from the child, who was still holding the bag of confectionary, and then to Juliet, who was clearly growing impatient and said “alright then, fine, but you owe me.”_

_Juliet and the strangely behaved man left the room and Nancy heard their footsteps hear up the stairs. Once she was sure they had gone away, she strolled towards the toddler, smiling at him. She crouched down and pulled a face, and he walked over to her, amused by her expression. When he was close enough, and without saying a word, she snatched the bag of sugar pigs from his hand. The boy’s face immediately crumpled and his bottom lip started to wobble. Nancy took one final look at his face and bolted from the room just as he let out an enormous wail._

_She heard the hurried sound of heels upon wood followed as the boy’s mother, alerted to his distress, ran to find him. The girl ran up the stairs as quickly and quietly as she could, returning to her bedroom and sitting cross legged on the bed. She dipped her hand into the bag and pulled out one of the sugar pigs, placing it to her lips. She had never tasted anything like it. Nancy knew she was going to be in so much trouble, but decided that for once, it was probably worth it._

“God Mags, you’ll never guess who I dreamed about last night. Little Charlie Quigley.” Nancy said, in between mouthfuls of porridge.

“That spoiled piece of shit! He is so wet. I wonder what he’ll be like when he grows up - he’ll probably only be able to get it up for his mother.” Maggie and Nancy both cackled outrageously. Charles Quigley was only a teenager, and neither of them really knew him all that well, but he had long been the butt of many of Maggie and Nancy’s jokes.

“I stole some sugar pigs from him when he was tiny, did you know that Mags? Took them right out of his fat little hands when I was left alone with him. Mrs Quigley threw me down the stairs for that, the old toad. Still got a scar on my elbow from where I hit the bannister at the bottom. And it still looks all wrong when I do this, see.” Nancy stretched out her arm, and Maggie half-laughed, half-gasped at the unnatural way her arm looked when straightened out. It had clearly been broken and never treated.

Nancy finished her breakfast in silence as she contemplated what was going to happen today. In later years she would spend plenty of time defending her friends in the courthouse, but she had never set foot inside one before and was slightly concerned at having to talk about Mrs Quigley in front of men, all of whom were far more educated than she and Maggie.

“Mags… are you worried about today?”

“Nah, she was caught in the act by the magistrate. They’re probably just going to ask how we came to be there and about the locked doors.” Nancy knew this was probably true, but she was still worried. What if they asked her about the culls? She found it difficult enough to admit to herself that she had been subject to acts of unspeakable sexual violence since she was a child and telling it to a courtroom full of people - including Mrs Quigley - would be nigh impossible.

***

“Miss Birch, please step forward.” Nancy gulped, her mouth suddenly incredibly dry. Maggie had spoken wonderfully and she wasn’t sure she could do the same. She took a small step forward, and felt Maggie’s hand on the small of her back, pushing her forward. “I unlocked a door in Mrs Quigley’s house and found you inside the room. Why were you there? Were you working for her?”

“Quigley - Mrs Quigley - took me from the workhouse when I was a child to work in her bawdy house. I never had a choice… I had to do her bidding. She locked the doors and kept us indebted to her so we would keep making money for her.”

“This woman is nothing but a liar. I removed her from a _workhouse_ to give her a better life. She was my _housekeeper_ , and see how she repays me. Of course there were locked doors, we live in Soho, I didn’t want ruffians wandering in off the streets.”

“Liar!” Shouted Nancy. “You are a despicable bawd! I was twelve years old when you took me and forced me to make coin for you on my back!” She turned to the magistrate, “I always had the worst of it. I’ve still got bruises and cuts inflicted by savage beasts what call themselves men! I did not choose this path for myself… she,” and Nancy pointed towards Mrs Quigley “forced it upon me.”

“I did no such thing!” Mrs Quigley lunged towards Nancy, and before the watchmen could grab her, she hissed in Nancy’s ear. “You never did anything to improve your situation, leading me to the sensible conclusion that you probably enjoyed it! You and that Wells woman will pay for this.”

When order was finally restored, the Magistrate adjusted his wig slightly, and paused. Finally he spoke.

“Mrs Quigley, I put it to you that you did run an unruly and bawdy house,” the magistrate raised his voice “and further to that - ORDER - you did kidnap and coerce young women for the purpose of becoming your prostitutes.”

“Outrageous lies!” Shouted a young man’s voice from near the back. The bottom nearly fell out of Nancy’s stomach as she realised it was Charles Quigley. He looked like he was about to cry.

“Charles, my little angel! Go home, this is no place for a boy!” Mrs Quigley looked disturbed to see her teenage son watching the proceedings.

“I hereby sentence you to be flogged. Tomorrow morning.” The courtroom erupted into jeers, shouts of glee and disbelief battling each other in the air.

“It ain’t enough!” shouted Maggie, “you should hang her!”

“Yeah, hang her!” chimed in Nancy.

Mrs Quigley, however, was silent in defeat.


	8. The Flogging

_The bedroom was freezing cold and a child sat shivering on the edge of the bed, blood silently dripping from her nose into her hands, which she held cupped below her chin. Everything hurt, and she could see bruises beginning to form on her little wrists, illuminated by the moonlight that was eerily streaming through the window. Tears dripped down her cheeks and her body heaved with each quiet sob._

_A portly man, semi-clothed, wrapped the bedsheet around her before lighting a candle next to the bed, whistling to himself. He began dressing and when he was finished he reached into his pocket and removed a shiny red apple, handing it to the little girl with a kind smile. In different circumstances, it would have almost been tender. But the child shrank away from him, drawing the sheet around herself, wishing dearly that she could disappear into it completely and never return._

_“Take it, little one! A reward for being such great fun tonight!” He moved closer to her, his hand still outstretched and she could smell his foul breath again. She wretched and tried to shuffle further away from him and the stench. The man, clearly spent, dropped the apple into her lap. The door was being unlocked as he straightened his shirt._

_“How was she?” Mrs Quigley’s serene voice filled the room. She entered the doorway holding a candle, her nose wrinkled slightly as the stench of the man’s breath hit her._

_“Ah, my little Nancy put up a jolly good fight for someone so small, but that only added to the excitement.” The man gestured to his forehead, where an angry lump had appeared and was steadily turning four shades of purple. “I think she’ll go far, Mrs Quigley! She’s got quite the spirit!” He left the room, chortling, with a spring in his step._

_“Fancy that! He enjoyed you. I didn’t imagine for one moment that would happen.” It wasn’t quite praise, but it was probably the nicest thing she had said to Nancy since they had met. “Oh, do stop this incessant crying, child! You’re a grown woman now, you must be demure.” Mrs Quigley stood in front of Nancy and put out her hand, roughly lifting the girl’s chin up, wiping her tears with a handkerchief. Nancy felt a sudden wave of rage coursing through her body, desperately wanting…no,_ needing _… the woman to stop touching her. She didn’t want anyone to touch her ever again. “I don’t think your nose is broken, and even if it is, you deserved that. You mustn’t fight with the gentlemen. Clean yourself up and then get some sleep. You’re going to be working hard for me now.”_

_Nancy batted the woman’s hands away and stood up fiercely, the apple falling to the floor. Her little fists curled tightly into balls, but before she could hit Mrs Quigley’s stupid sneering face, she doubled over and vomited all over the bawd’s shoes._

_Suddenly she was falling towards the floor, a sharp pain filling the back of her head._

“No Mrs Quigley, please don’t!” shouted Nancy.

“Mrs Quigley?” came a familiar voice, full of confusion. “What the fuck are ya doing Nance?!” shouted Maggie. She sounded like she was above Nancy, which couldn’t be right. Nancy opened her eyes and found herself face down on the floor. She blinked several times and turned over; she was right next to the bed. Her face was wet and she realised she must have been crying in her sleep again.

“God. I must’ve fallen out.” Maggie laughed, but stopped at once when she saw Nancy’s reddened eyes. “What a silly cunt I am!” Nancy joked, not really wanting to talk about her dream. Maggie knew its contents anyway.

“Nance…” said Maggie, kindly. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It wasn’t anything new.”

“Falling out the bed is new though, Nancy, isn’t it?” Nancy didn’t answer for she knew exactly why it had happened. Seeing Mrs Quigley in the courtroom yesterday had put all kinds of horrible things in her head. Nancy was acutely aware that Mrs Quigley would be released after the flogging and would be returned home. How long before she sought them out? How long before she tried to get her property back? Anyway - she thought with some annoyance - what did Maggie know about Nancy’s sleeping habits? Until two nights ago they hadn’t shared a room since before Charlotte was born.

The two friends walked to the courthouse to watch the spectacle. Mrs Cooper had kindly agreed to giving them the day off, sensing that this was a momentous occasion for the two young women. She had even offered to mind Charlotte for them.

By the time they had visited a nearby tavern for pints of beer to bring with them, Mrs Quigley was already being paraded out to the whipping post. Maggie and Nancy looked on in awe, as the woman, usually powder-faced and wearing a wig, was dragged up to the whipping post, her hair bedraggled and her face bare. She looked apprehensive and frightened, although Nancy quietly concluded that she would look the same if she was about to be whipped in public.

When it begun, Mrs Quigley howled in agony. Eventually, as the whip cut deep welts into screaming Mrs Quigley’s back, Maggie had to turn her face away, despite her hatred for the woman. Nancy, however, watched every lash, unflinching, fascinated and delighted to see the punishment inflicted upon her torturer. She tried to keep her expression blank, but she wanted to smile and laugh.

“Look at her Maggie!” Nancy laughed gleefully, as Mrs Quigley was removed from the whipping post and carried from the scene, her back bleeding terribly. “I never expected her to shriek like a little girl! How the mighty fall!”

“Nance, how could you watch that? It was one of the most horrible things I ever seen.”

“S’only as bad as she had done to me. Every single day I was in that godforsaken cess-pit. Deserved it!” Nancy scoffed, annoyed the Maggie was not enjoying this day trip as much as she. “Come on, let’s go before this crowd gets rowdy.”

“Nance, that coinage Mrs Cooper gave us earlier - we should buy some new clothes!” Neither Maggie or Nancy had ever bought new clothes before and the idea that they might be able to choose what she wore was a novel one. Nancy had been given itchy slips in the workhouse, and then fitted for revealing dresses that she hated wearing in Mrs Quigley’s bawdy house. She briefly wondered if she should return the dress she was currently standing in, maybe in the dead of night, to prevent Quigley coming after her to settle her debt.

They soon found a tailor in Soho with clothing in their price range. Maggie was immediately trying on all the latest fashions. One dress style, the jolly owner assured her, had come all the way from Paris. Maggie insisted on her corset being too small for her, creating the effect that her bust was even more significant that it already was, as was customary for harlots. Nancy couldn’t help but stare as Nancy emerged from the small fitting room, looking the part of a Soho harlot.

Nancy dragged her feet around the shop, looking for something practical that wouldn’t expose much flesh. Most of the dresses in this establishment were clearly tailored for harlots and not suitable for housekeeping. Anyway, now she was free from Mrs Quigley’s clutches, Nancy wanted nothing to do with tight, frilly dresses, designed to accentuate a figure she didn’t feel she possessed.

Nancy wandered absent-mindedly to the gentlemen’s section, wondering what it would be like to try on the breeches.

“I think they’d suit ya!” said Maggie, who had already purchased two new dresses. Nancy smiled and picked out a dark pair of breeches and a couple of dark shirts. “The new Nancy Birch!” Maggie said proudly.


	9. Celebration

Maggie had declared herself “parched” after their shopping trip and so Nancy had found a tavern for them to get a couple of drinks at. They paid some coin to the bartender for a couple of gins and sat down in the middle of the room (Nancy had pleaded with Maggie to let them sit in a dark corner, but Maggie wanted to show off her new dress).

“Fancy another one, Nance?” Maggie had already finished her gin and was eyeing up Nancy’s cup, which was still full halfway. Nancy hadn’t been permitted to drink gin at Mrs Quigley’s house; that was reserved for the special girls only. Maggie had only very rarely been able to sneak some back with her from the parties she attended, so Nancy was not really accustomed to alcohol of this strength. Nancy rolled her eyes at Maggie and raised the cup to her lips, draining it in one, gagging slightly at the fullness of the flavour. Maggie strode confidently to the bar and leaned over it, giving the poor young bartender an eyeful as she handed over the two cups. When he’d filled them, Maggie handed over some coinage and while he was gawping at her ample bosom, she reached over the bar and grabbed the bottle of gin.

Nancy laughed to herself and remembered Maggie regaling her with stories of how her mother, the great harlot Mrs Wells (who had, of course, sold Maggie to Mrs Quigley for a pair of shoes), had been able to charm a night in a room with wine and board off a man by flashing him a quick look at her tits. She briefly wondered whether Mrs Wells was still living. Perhaps she was still thieving out there somewhere with the help of her womanly wiles.

When they finally arrived back to Mrs Cooper’s house, Nancy was stumbling slightly but still beaming from ear to ear when she thought about the flogging. It almost unsettled Maggie as she couldn’t remember ever seeing Nancy like this. It was as though watching Mrs Quigley’s flogging had awakened something inside her, given her a newfound confidence.

They took their stolen bottle of gin up to their chamber and began spilling its contents clumsily into cups. Charlotte was left downstairs, still minded by kindly Mrs Cooper, who was merrily bouncing her on her knee and singing bawdy songs.

After a several more drinks, both women were drunk and sitting next to each other on the bed they shared. Maggie was blabbing about Lord Fuller’s contract, his spectacular knob, and whether Nancy thought it would be odd only lying with one cull. Nancy’s chest was growing tighter and tighter as Maggie was talking animatedly about the handsome man. She wanted nothing more than for Maggie to talk about _her_ like that.

Thoughts swam slowly through Nancy’s brain, as if a fog was clouding her consciousness. Her mind seemed to be encouraging her to say anything and everything that she thought. She wasn’t used to being drunk at all, and she wasn’t sure if she liked the way it made her want to say all manner of secret things out loud. Suddenly, and surprising even herself, Nancy interrupted quietly but firmly.

“I love you Margaret Wells.” She said it so seriously that she thought it sounded a bit like someone had died. Of course, she immediately regretted it.

“Love ya too Nancy Birch! You’re my best friend,” Maggie slurred, smiling stupidly, but Nancy was crestfallen. Margaret Wells was too gin-soaked to realise Nancy had just confided her deepest, most well-guarded secret.

“Fuck!” Nancy exclaimed, and then said carefully, after a pause, “Mags. No. I _love_ you. I love you like Lord Fuller loves you… More than he ever could.” Maggie looked positively scandalised as Nancy leaned across and kissed her friend softly, briefly, on the lips, tasting the gin on her breath.

“But you’re a _girl_ , Nance! We both are!” Maggie, now confused, moved several inches away from Nancy, who looked down at her feet, hurting more than she ever had when she carried her torch for Maggie in secret.

“I know. I know.”

“What’cha gonna do with me? You ain’t got a knob Nance… have you?” Maggie’s eyes darted downwards and she furrowed her brow. She was suddenly realising that for all their shared intimacy, she’d never seen Nancy remove all of her clothes. She wasn’t like the other harlots Maggie knew; she kept secrets. Nancy didn’t like to talk about things, didn’t like to be watched. Maggie had always allowed it in their friendship, knowing that no one else had ever given Nancy’s wishes even the smallest amount of respect.

“I… I…no,” Nancy felt her cheeks flushing red. The searching look Maggie had fixed upon her was making her uncomfortable. She honestly didn’t know what she’d actually do.

Nancy’s feelings for Maggie were complex and more multifaceted than she could really comprehend. Although she’d often imagined confessing her love for her friend, she hadn’t really considered what she would do after. Nancy wasn’t even convinced she knew what love was, but she knew she wanted to kiss Maggie again and… _what_ _exactly_? It wasn’t what Nancy would call pleasurable when a man touched her, so why would it be any different if a woman did? But Maggie was different from that sickening parade of men. She made Nancy feel safe, happy even. Curse this gin for making her spill her secret!

“Of course I ain’t got a knob, you drunk cunt!”

“Well then, there ain’t much we can do then.” said Maggie, matter-of-factly. Nancy doubted this was true, after all, she knew about Molly-boys, so could there not be Molly-girls too? But neither woman had yet been encouraged to explore their own pleasure, only ever being taught how to please a man. It turned out Maggie was about to dash Nancy’s last hope, regardless of whether any union between them was even physically possible.

“Anyways, even if you did have a knob I’m not sure I’d tup ya. You’re my best friend Nance, I don’t think I’d want you like that. I love you with all my heart - honest - but it just ain’t the kind of love I want to share…bodily…” Nancy nodded sagely, understanding exactly what Maggie meant. This wasn’t to be spoken of again.

“Maggie, I’m sorry,” Nancy said, her voice thick with gin. She felt hot tears filling her eyes and turned away from Maggie so she wouldn’t see. “I just… I dunno… I wish I understood what I’m feeling. For all that schooling Mrs Quigley insisted on, one ever taught me nothing about love.” Nancy’s voice was cracking and the tears were openly streaming from her eyes now. She never normally minced her words, and cursed herself and the gin for turning her into a mumbling fool.

“I think you’re drunk Nancy Birch.” Maggie had moved closer to Nancy again, and was gently patting her hand. “I think I’m drunk too. What do you say to sleep?” Nancy nodded and swung her feet up into the bed without even removing her new boots.

Normally when they shared a bed, the two friends faced each other, sometimes even holding each other (though Maggie would swear she only did it because she was cold), but tonight Nancy lay facing the wall, as far against it as she could cram herself. She didn’t want to be close to Maggie tonight. She would rather sleep alone. She had now realised that even if she slept in Maggie’s arms, she would still be alone. Nancy felt bereft and surprisingly angry with herself for daring to entrust Maggie with her most intimate secret. She lay awake for some time before drifting off into an restless night’s sleep.


	10. Some Semblance of Normal

_The little girl stirred, spots still dancing in front of her eyes. The room was dark, and held the strong smell of stale vomit. As she looked round, she realised she had been lying face-down on the floor, and then noticed with some horror that she had been lying in the sick she could smell. The back of her head felt heavy and sore, and there was dry blood all over her face. Her throat burned unpleasantly, indicating a small mercy - at least it was probably her own vomit she had been sleeping in. A quiet whisper came from the bed, making her jump._

_“What did you do to deserve such a beating?” A slightly younger girl was sitting up in the bed, peering curiously at the injured girl, who quickly pulled the bedsheet, now stained with the contents of her stomach, over her naked torso. This newcomer was absolutely filthy, even filthier than the children in the workhouse. She looked like a street urchin._

_The older girl said nothing as she rose, grabbing the nightdress from the bottom of the bed and pulling it over herself. She hobbled to the basin, which had been left on the floor, sat down and grabbed a rag, wincing as she washed her face with it. The bridge of her nose had a large, painful lump on it, and a small amount of fresh blood was still trickling down onto her upper lip. Her long, dark hair had dry sick in it and she decided upon dunking it into the basin, clumsily trying her best to wash it out._

_“Did you see a cull tonight? I’ve got my first one next week. What was it like? Some of the older girls said it hurts. Did it make you bleed?” The younger girl with all the questions had crawled to the edge of the bed but, upon seeing the vomit on the floor, retreated to the middle of the bed, the colour fading fast from her rosy cheeks. It didn’t seem to quell her need for answers though. “Why was you sick? Did you eat something rotten? I’m Margaret Wells, by the way. What’s your name?”_

_“Nancy. Nancy Birch,” she croaked, feeling a little better now she was a bit cleaner, although she was longing for a cup of water. She walked back to the bed and climbed into it next to Margaret. “So why’re you in my room then, Margaret Wells?”_

_“Mrs Quigley said this is my room too now. Did you see a cull? How was it?” She repeated her question, eyes wide. Nancy closed her eyes tightly for a minute, feeling her stomach churn unpleasantly again._

_“It was fucking horrible,” Nancy said quietly, praying that the girl didn’t ask for further details. But no more questions came. Instead, Margaret Wells did something so strange that Nancy instinctively froze to the spot. The girl reached out, placing her arm gently around Nancy’s shoulders and then gave them a sort of squeeze. Nancy’s whole body tensed and she scowled at the girl, confusion and fear in her eyes, wondering what awful thing would happen next. Maybe she’d been sent by Quigley to bully her._

_“I’m only tryin’ to hug ya!”_

_After a moment, she relaxed slightly and she even briefly rested her head on Margaret’s shoulder. It was strange how safe she felt in that moment, despite everything._

_“Ain’t no one ever hugged me before.”_

Maggie was already getting up when Nancy opened her eyes. The dream had been so vivid that when she awoke she was saddened not to find Maggie’s arm around her. She felt last night’s indulgence in her head and swayed slightly as she stood up, suddenly remembering her drunken conversation with Maggie. How she wished it hadn’t happened! She wished more than ever to go back to her dream, where little Maggie had held her her for the first time.

Maggie looked pale and sullen, and didn’t smile when Nancy uttered a quick “mornin’.” _You’ve really done it now, Nance, you old goat. She ain’t even going to want to talk to ya after last night. You should never have said those things. They was private things._ Nancy dressed slowly and silently, trying not to move too much, unsure if her queasiness came from the alcohol or nerves at having to patch things up with her friend. Finally Maggie spoke, massaging her temples with her fingers as she did so.

“Nance, last night… I was really far gone with all that gin. Away with the fairies. So was you… I don’t really remember what we said, but I do remember you were vexed… Anyway, I don’t think we knew what we was saying anyway but if I did say something bad, please forgive me.” Maggie was lying about not remembering, Nancy could see it on her face plain as day. But Nancy was also feeling awful enough that any semblance of an olive branch was one she would gladly receive right now.

“S’alright Maggie. I barely remember it myself. I think I got upset over nothing. Let’s not dwell on it. Whatever it was we said or did, let’s ignore it. God, my head’s a’pounding something rotten.” Nancy felt like her heart was going to rip in two as she said it. Something she had done so boldly and hopefully last night was reduced to a half-remembered drunken kiss and a retraction of any declaration of love. The rejection stung harder than any whip from a perverted cull.

“I’ve been thinking, I don’t think I can accept Lord Fuller’s offer. He won’t have Charlotte in the house and I don’t think I can bring myself to leave her at the Foundling Hospital.”

“Mags, if you left that beautiful child in the Foundling Hospital, I’d have your guts for garters. I’d march in there and take her for my own.” Nancy absent-mindedly played with the ring she wore around her neck, her own souvenir of the Foundling Hospital and only reminder that someone, somewhere had once loved her enough to leave it with her. Maggie laughed, knowing Nancy would never let anything bad happen to Charlotte.

The air was clearer now and so they walked downstairs arm-in-arm, chatting about the day ahead as if nothing was wrong. By the time they’d finished their breakfasts, Maggie had completely forgotten anything was wrong between them.

Nancy started work, cleaning the kitchen, pausing occasionally to coo over little Charlotte. The work kept her mind busy and was a welcome distraction from the headache and embarrassment from the previous night’s exploits. Maggie and the other girls, of course, led a procession of culls to their rooms while Nancy kept house for Mrs Cooper.

By midday, Nancy was sweeping the kitchen floor and it was getting warm. She paused, leaning up against the sideboard, taking a long drink of water. The smell of pipe tobacco filled the air and a hand snaked its way around her slender waist.

“How much for a bounce, my love?” Nancy froze. She could smell the beer on his breath as his breathing grew heavier. The hand was working its way down towards her cunny and she could feel his growing arousal behind her.

“I ain’t a harlot,” she retorted gruffly. She balled her fists tightly, but her hands were shaking.

“Anyone can be one, so long as they’re paid,” slurred the man, throwing a modest number of coins down on the sideboard next to Nancy. “I’m not paying you much, because you’re so flat-chested.” Nancy felt her face redden.

“William North, you come here at once!” She shouted, hoping to alert the friendly young doorman to her situation. But no one came running to rescue her and she felt the familiar feeling of blind panic and rage stirring inside her as the gentleman attempted to remove her breeches. This couldn’t be happening. This was exactly what she had tried to escape from. She had to do something. Nancy Birch wasn’t going to get tupped again by some stranger without a fight.

Catching her moment, Nancy spun round fast as a whippet and before she knew what she was doing, she’d cracked the pole of the broomstick hard against his head. The man looked dazed as she hit him again with the pole, this time in the face. He crashed to the floor but Nancy didn’t stop hitting him; over and over again she struck him, occasionally kicking him for good measure too. His bleeding face seemed to contort into the faces of others: culls she’d had at Mrs Quigley’s house, the portly man who still haunted her nightmares, even Mrs Quigley herself. She was shouting obscenities as she beat him, getting louder and louder until her voice became hoarse.

Eventually the ruckus found William and Mrs Cooper’s ears, and both came running to the kitchen. William gasped as he saw the cull, now a bloodied, bruised mess on the floor. Nancy dropped the broom with a clatter and backed away, collapsing into a corner. She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up as fear consumed her. She turned away from the man, feeling a lump stinging in her throat. Had she really just done that to him? The reprimand from Mrs Cooper was going to be awful, she just knew it.

No one said anything. Mrs Cooper studied the man for a good while, holding out her hand over his mouth to see if he was breathing. She appeared satisfied that he was alive at least, and murmured to William about removing him from the room. Mrs Cooper picked up the broom and Nancy was positive she was going to beat her with it. After-all, the punishment would fit the crime. But Mrs Cooper returned it to the other corner and gently approached Nancy, crouching down so their eyes were on a level. Nancy backed away and wondered whether she could push the woman over to make a run for it.

“Well, Nancy, now I see why you were so hell-bent on being my housekeeper rather than my harlot,” rasped Mrs Cooper. Nancy, still cowering in the corner, but unashamed of her violence nodded slightly. She tried to speak, desperate to explain and defend herself, but her mouth was too dry. “Come with me.”

Mrs Cooper helped Nancy stand and led her into her own parlour, the one she sat in some evenings when she didn’t want to deal with the culls. She gestured for Nancy to sit down and she obliged, confused, frightened, barely able to focus on sitting herself down.

“Are you going to punish me, Mrs Cooper? He tried to tup me and I ain’t a harlot no more! I know I shouldn’t have done it but I couldn’t bear it. Kick me out on the streets if you must, but please… _please_ … let Maggie and Charlotte stay!”

“Goodness gracious, girl! Punish you? Heavens, no! My housekeeper just bested a rapist, I have no intention of getting rid of her.” Nancy wasn’t used to this kindness from a bawd and immediately distrusted her intentions. “I have a small roster of culls with a - ahem - _proclivity_ towards violence.”

There it was. Mrs Cooper wanted her to get busy with violent culls. She was no different to Mrs Quigley after all.

“Mrs Quigley had plenty of them too Mrs Cooper,” Nancy whispered.

She would have to leave and live on the streets. She couldn’t put herself through that again. She wouldn’t do it.

“No, no, dear. These men are not remotely interested in violence _towards_ young women - as I suspect has been your experience of this profession?” She didn’t bother to wait for an answer before continuing. “They enjoy the feeling of pain, you see. Some even achieve… _completion_ … just from being beaten.” Nancy knew she should be shocked and appalled, but she felt herself leaning forward, her interest piqued ever-so-slightly.

“I think you would be an excellent candidate. It’s been a while since I offered such services, and I’ve long been looking for a girl to take up the mantle. I would have to instruct you, mind you. Few of them would submit to the beating you subjected to that cull out there, and we certainly don’t want a parade of unconscious men leaving this house… it might frighten away the _regular_ culls.” Nancy laughed hollowly, knowing she had the capacity to scare away all but the most demonic of men presented to her at Mrs Quigley’s.

She then thought about what it would mean though. This was still ultimately about sex, surely? She didn’t want men to tup her anymore: she’d left Quigley’s to get away from that.

“Mrs Cooper, I dunno what to say. But the men what beat me… they wanted to tup me after. Your men are going to need someone who will tup them, aren’t they? But if I’m being honest, I don’t ever want to fuck another man ever again, so I’m only half the package you need, Mrs Cooper. I ain’t she.” She’d never said it out loud before, but she knew it was true. She never wanted to lay with a man ever again.

“You wouldn’t necessarily have to - _fuck_ \- anyone Nancy. Don’t you see? You’re in control. Always be the one in control. If you’re the one holding the rod, you’re the one dictating what the terms are. It would certainly pay more than sweeping my kitchen does.” Nancy thought for a minute, her brain was still rattled but she was intrigued by the prospect, and slightly curious about what it would be like to have real, proper money in her pocket.

“Alright then, if hitting them’s all I have to do, I’ll do it for ya.” Mrs Cooper smiled and clasped her hands together in delight.

When Nancy returned to the kitchen, she nearly tripped on something on the floor. At first she thought it was Charlotte’s little rattle, but upon closer inspection, she found the cull’s wooden pipe. He must have dropped it while Nancy was beating him. She picked it up curiously and upon inspecting it found there was still tobacco in the bowl. Looking around to check no one else was there, she lifted the pipe to her mouth, lit a match and inhaled. 


End file.
